


E is for Richard

by pipisafoat



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-26
Updated: 2007-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat





	1. E is for Escape

"So, what, you're just leaving?"

He doesn't turn around, doesn't stop putting his clothing in the suitcase, as he nods. Once. A dismissal as well as an affirmative.

"You can't just leave, Sven. Not like this." He was supposed to wait for a few more years. Take me with him. He stops what he's doing, so I press on. "He didn’t mean what he said, son..."

He turns around suddenly. "Don't fucking call me that," he snarls. "I'm not your little boy anymore." The look on his face is one of absolute hatred. "Move."

When I remain in the doorway, he pushes me out of the way with one hand and strides out without a backwards glance. Noticing a sheet of paper on the bed, I move forward, only to be shoved out of the way again as he storms back to get it.

"Sven, please. Just think about what you're doing, leaving me like this."

"I have thought, okay? You want to live with this dipshit, so have fun. I'm out of here."

I grab his arm as he tries to leave again. "Where will you live?" I ask, trying to keep him close to me for as long as I can. I know I can't make him stay.

"I have friends. They'll put me up until I get going."

"Is it a safe neighborhood? Are you going to be okay? Why don't you just..."

"Move in with my brother?" He sighs and turns to me. "Look, I'm going to be fine. I'm going to be better than fine. I'm going to do something nobody else in this family has bothered to do, and that's to make something of myself. More than you have, at least – a drunken hit man’s devoted wife." He laughs at my disbelief.

"Sven..."

"That's not my name anymore."

"And what, I'm not your mother anymore?"

He smiles at the sarcastic comment, seeming to agree with it.

"How can I find you?"

He smiles bitterly before turning away for the last time. "You'll have to start by losing me."


	2. E is for Eileen

"So, what, you're just leaving?"

He turns to face me. "No, _you_ are, since we're in my house."

"It still comes down to the same thing. You're leaving me for your music."

He shrugs. "You could look at it that way, though I prefer to see it as returning to the music and casting aside an old distraction."

I stare at him. "Nothing else matters to you, does it? Even your band friends only matter because of the music."

He grins, and it scares me. "You know it, baby."

I pull off the lingerie and drape it over his guitar. "There. Jerk off to that, because you sure won’t be fucking any women with your attitude.”

"Eileen."

"No, I'm Elisabeth, actually."

He rolls his eyes. "The guitar. Her name is Eileen.”

"Thank you for proving my point yet again. Have fun fucking Eileen. Just remember, if you ever decide to be the one in lingerie, you need an extra large to fit over your ego." I march out of there, barely stopping to grab his robe in lieu of my own clothing.

As I get in the car, his front door opens. "Elisabeth, wait!" he yells. Barely daring to hope he might have reconsidered, I pause with the door still open.

"That's my robe," he says. "You can keep your clothing, though. My ass isn't that big."


	3. E is for Encouragement

"So, what, you're just leaving?"

He looks at me calmly. "It takes more than a good name to make a good band. If you haven't figured that out yet, it's time for me to move on."

"We had a bad day. All of us, not just you, Scholle."

His face twists. "Don't call me that, you bastard.” His fists clench momentarily before he flattens them forcefully against his thighs. “I'm out of here."

I try to calm him by placing a hand on his arm. "Look, kid, I know it's been rough..."

"You don't know rough," he hisses. "Move or I'll introduce you to the Death part of Orgasm Death Gimmick."

"Hey, just give it a couple days and come back fresh. Get a whore or something."

He shakes his head in a condescending way. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm leaving. For good."

"What we have is good."

"What we have could be good, but I'm the only one willing to put in any effort."

"What we have **is** good, but you're the only one who doesn't realize that. And you're the only one who thinks the rest of us aren't putting in any effort."

"What _we_ had is over. What _you_ have doesn't matter to me.”

He pushes past me and leaves the room, gathering his equipment and starting to load it up. I watch him as he struggles with too-heavy cases before giving in to the urge to grab one end.

"You're not going to convince me to stay by helping," he grunts. "My mind is made up, and has been for a while. This isn't just a spur-of-the-moment decision."

"I know." And I do, actually. I'd just hoped to have more time to change his mind. "Just because we're not working together anymore doesn't mean I can't help out my friend."

He grabs my hand and pauses for a moment, lost in thought, before dropping it and pulling me into a tight hug. "Thanks," he whispers against my shoulder.

"Be good, Scholle."

His lips move against my neck, finally giving action to the desire I've seen in his eyes. If he’d let himself do this before, I’d have introduced him the to Orgasm part of the band. "Don't say that. Say be better."

"Be better, Scholle." Learn to take a chance before you’re walking out the door, away from the consequences.

He pulls away slowly and smiles lopsidedly at me. "I already am."


	4. E is for Experimenting

"So, what, you're just leaving?"

"Nothing I say is making any difference," he tells me, pausing by the door. "If you don't want to do this, I don't want to make you. It won't be any good unless you want it like I do."

I smirk at his double entendre, however unintentional it may be. He might not know it, but I want “it” _exactly_ like he does. "Are you still a virgin?" I ask.

"No, I... wait, what?" He turns to face me finally, caught off guard by the question.

"Are you still a virgin?"

"Are you suggesting that if I got a stripper, you would join the band?"

“No, I’m suggesting that if you told me why you’re so shy about looking at me we could actually talk. Do something about that shyness, clear the air, and then think about the band.”

He looks a little confused. "I'm not a virgin?"

"Well, I don't know, are you?” I try not to laugh at him. “I'm guessing you are. For men, at least. You're too shy. Nobody who didn't already know you could ever pick up on your interest."

He starts to fidget a little bit. "Till, what are you trying to say?"

I stand and stretch, feeling the shirt ride up my stomach slightly. “I’m trying to say you need to admit that you’re attracted to me. I can’t work if there are hidden desires floating around the room.” I was right. His eyes are glued to the strip of skin below the hem of my shirt. “I’m not committing to anything until we can start on the same page.”

He steps towards me slowly. "So what you're proposing is..."

"Say what you want. Then do what you want. Then we'll talk about this whole band thing again. Sound like a plan?"

He nods slowly, staring as I take off my shirt.

"Nodding isn't the same as speaking."

"Uh, yeah. I want... whatever you want."

I laugh. "Ah, he's shy again. Repeat after me: I want to fuck you, Till."

"But I don't," he whispers, looking at his feet. "I want... the opposite."

A change in plans, though not a completely unwelcome one. "Then say it."

He mumbles something, scratching the back of his neck as his face turns red. I step closer and tilt his chin up.

"You're cute when you blush," I tell him. "But I still haven't heard what you want."

He rises on his tiptoes and presses his lips to mine tentatively. His hands move to my shoulders and pull me down so he can whisper in my ear, "I want you to fuck me, Till. Please."

I smile at him. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" I step away. "I'm going to bed."

He just stands there, watching me as I stroll across the room.

"Coming or going?"

He blushes again. God, I didn't even do it on purpose this time. If I hadn't been sure before, this would be the give-away that he's still a virgin. For a man who can undress me with his eyes so quickly, that's a surprise.

"I... uh, if you don't mind..." He steps towards me, unsure.

"I wouldn't have offered if I minded," I tell him. "Come on."

He hurries as though afraid I'll change my mind. "I'm not doing this just for the music," he murmurs as he opens my pants. "Just so we're clear."

"I wouldn't be doing this or joining your band if that was the reason," I say, biting lightly on his neck. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal," he moans.


	5. E is for Evil

"So, what, you're just leaving?"

He turns on me so suddenly that I don't see the book flying at me until it's too late to stop it. It strikes my chest and falls to the floor.

"You are the most arrogant bastard I know. Ever think about what happens next?" I know I'm baiting him, and I don't even care. "Ever think about what Till's going to do if you leave?"

He stalks over to me, placing both of his hands on my chest and shoves. Hard. "Fuck off, alright? I'm sick and tired of being the only one who wants to work. Besides, Till and I aren’t any of your business."

"And I'm sick and tired of you being the one who does all the work," I return. "Nobody else gets any input anymore. So at least we agree on something. Is that enough to make you stay?"

He growls unintelligibly before shoving me against the wall with a hand around my throat. "Don't fucking push me, Schneider," he snarls. "Don't fucking push me." He squeezes roughly, once, before whirling around and stomping back to the bed. I know it's foolish to consider anything but walking out of this room, but I can't stop myself.

"We've worked ourselves to death, you idiot. All because you can't stop. Do us a favor and finish the mixing before you walk out on your own band. At least you've done us all a favor. We'll get to ride around on your shirttails for the rest of your career as the best band-mates you ever left."

He grabs me without turning around and throws me to the floor. "Do you have a death wish? Because I'm not fucking with you. Grow up and get out of my way."

"Grow up? I'm not the one walking out in the middle of a temper tantrum, little baby Richiepants. You're going to have to go out there and tell everyone just why you're leaving, because I'm sure as hell not going to do it. You go tell the guys. Then you go tell Emu. Then you go make a hundred press releases. Then you walk out on us." For some reason, it doesn't bother me to be yelling at him from the floor. It seems appropriate.

"You have no right to demand that," he hisses. "But I'll do it anyway. Because you wouldn't if you were leaving, and I'm a better man than you."

I smirk. "You're definitely a better boy, but I'm not so sure you're a man at all. Why else would you be leaving?"

"I have my reasons," he says, quieter than before.

"You're going to have to tell everyone else in just a minute. What's wrong with starting with me? Unless you'd rather just beat me to a pulp for trying to figure this out."

He looks like he's seriously considering that second option when Till suddenly appears in the doorway.

"Richard, what's going on? I heard you yelling…"

He glares at me and turns to Till. "Nothing. Just working off a little steam before we get back to work."


	6. E is for Emigrate

"So, what, you're just leaving?"

"Yeah," he says, toying with the shirt in his hands. "We all need some space. Everyone else needs some time off. I need something else to do, and this is actually going to happen."

"But you're coming back."

He sighs. "I don't know. I really don't know."

I sit beside him on the bed. "Richard, you have to. We can't do this without you, and none of us really want to quit Rammstein yet."

"I know," he nods. "I know how it is. I just don't know how it's going to turn out. I can't make any promises, Paul. You know how it goes."

I put my hand on his knee. "I know how it goes." He sighs at the tone in my voice. "Richard, you've been running away from yourself for too long. You'll have to stop someday."

He stands up abruptly, causing my hand to fall back onto my own leg. "I'm not running away from anything," he protests, avoiding my gaze. "I'm just going to do something on my own."

"Whatever happens... Rich, we're here. We all care, you know that. Do what you need to do in New York, but spend some time with your family. Take some time off for once, go camping with Khira, take Till to a bar. Pretend you never heard of Rammstein or even Emigrate, and have some fun."

He laughs a little bit, folding the shirt and placing it in his suitcase. "Thanks, Paul. I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking. Take a break. Go have fun. Flirt with America. We'll be here when you get back."

"If I come back."

"When you come back."

He smiles slightly at my persistence. "If you're going to hang around here being sentimental, can you at least help me pack?"

"I'd be glad to." I grab a handful of shirts and toss them haphazardly into the open suitcase. "There, all packed. You'd better get out of here!"

He laughs then, a real laugh. "Get those out of there, dipshit. I meant go look in the fridge. You'll have to take all that food home with you so it doesn't go bad while I'm gone."

"Sure. Wouldn't want you coming home to a stinky kitchen, would we?"

His smile disappears. "Paul, can you keep an eye on my place while I'm gone?"

I smirk. "What, don’t trust Till on your clean sheets?”

The smile's back in his eyes, though he keeps it off his face. "Till's going to be with me, but as far as I know you'll be around."

I wink knowingly. "Don't worry about it. Have fun with Till. Let me know if sex in America is really better than it is here."

He laughs again. "Paul, you know I'll have to come back, if only to make sure my house is still standing."


	7. E is for Exquisite

"So, what, you're just leaving?"

He turns around. "Oh, I didn't think you were home."

"You didn't bother to knock and find out, apparently," I laugh. "What's up?"

"I'm back," he says quietly. "The album's done and I came back."

"Want to come in for a bit?"

He scuffs his sneaker on the step. "Yeah, sure, why not."

When he's inside, I close the door and reach for him. "Too hot for a jacket in here." As the zipper goes down, his eyes close, mouth opens. My hands push the fabric from his shoulders, making him slow his breathing. I let my arms fall around his waist as I hold the jacket in both hands behind him.

His fingers curl through the belt loops on my jeans. "Till..." he whispers, pulling me closer. "I missed you."

"I love you," I murmur against his forehead. "Stop trying to leave me."

He smiles against my shoulder. "I'm done with that for a while."

My hand slides down his back and back up under his shirt, slowly stroking the tension away. "You're home to stay?" I whisper, lips sliding down to his.

"As long as I can stand it," he mumbles between kisses. "You know how I get."

I take his ear in my mouth, humming my agreement. He sighs and melts against me completely. "Bed?"

"The sooner, the better."


	8. E is for Enticement

I stroke his arm gently, letting him wake up slowly instead of jerking him from his sleep. His eyes flutter open slowly, and he tries to focus on my face but gives up and closes them. "Mm," he groans softly. "What?"

I lean down and bite his shoulder. "It's morning, Richard. You have to meet that guy in an hour." He nods sleepily and slides closer to me. "One hour, Rich."

He sits up and runs his fingers through his hair. "Only one? How long does it take to get there?" He suddenly looks worried.

"One hour until we need to leave," I clarify. "Go take a shower. I'll get breakfast."

By the time he’s out of the shower, I’ve finished my cereal and am waiting for the coffee. His hair is neatly spiked already, but his makeup waits until after he eats.

Over the comfort of a steaming mug of coffee, I watch him eat. He looks so different without his makeup, though by no means bad. It doesn’t make him any less attractive. Not to me, at least. I don’t know why he feels like he has to dress up before leaving the house. I like the man in the rumpled t-shirt and blue jeans sitting across from me just fine.

"You ready to go?" I ask, knowing full well that he still has plenty of time to put on his makeup and that he plans to take full advantage of it.

He glowers at me, slowly raising a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. I smile at him, watching the glare melt off into a yawn. "You crazy?" he asks.

"Possibly," I reply. "But you look great to me."

"You're sleeping with me. You have to say things like that."

"I'm just sleeping with you?" I manage to look offended, though just barely. "Maybe I do need to say things like that, then, to get you to fall desperately in love with me.” He laughs. “I'm serious though. You don't need all that makeup to look good."

He huffs into his coffee, sending up a great cloud of steam to envelope his face. "Till, there's a difference between what you don't mind me looking like and what the fans want me to look like."

"Then they're not really true fans, are they?" I counter. "Anyone shallow enough to stop listening to your music because you don't wear makeup isn't worth the effort you put into your appearance."

He nods, conceding the point, but still frowns at the idea of going into public with an essentially naked face. "They have money, you know. Money to buy either my album or someone else's. I'd rather they spent it on mine."

"And you're wearing makeup on the album. Even when you were just recording, I'd wager.”

"You know me too well," he smirks. "But my point remains. I'd rather not lose all my fans over one day's laziness."

I set down my coffee, looking at him seriously. "Do you really think any pictures that might get out would have that big of an impact? Honestly, Rich, any fans that get their hands on pictures of today's meeting are going to be serious enough about your music that it really won't make a difference. Branch out. Try something different. Besides, they're more likely to get riled up over the collar you insist on wearing."

A smile flits across his face. "Don't deny you don't like the collar," he says. "I know what it does to you."

I swallow hard and try to pretend I didn't hear that last comment. "Just put on a jacket and let's go. If we leave soon, we'll have time to stop at that bakery on the way."

He considers for a minute. "Okay," he says finally. "Just this once."

"I'll make it worth your while," I promise.

"I hope you mean more than just a delicious baked treat." When I nod, he grins and we stand.

“So, what, you’re just leaving? Just like that?”

He smacks me on the arm. “Like I said, just this once. Let me grab a jacket.”


End file.
